


Plaything

by ritsuko



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Extremely Dubious Consent, Finger Sucking, Forced, Hand Jobs, Hydra (Marvel), M/M, Multiple Personalities, Pet Names, Repressed Memories, Rewards, Role Reversal, Wall Sex, sweet talk, tied up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 12:27:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4019719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ritsuko/pseuds/ritsuko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brock doesn't notice the way the Winter Soldier looks at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plaything

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VicStone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VicStone/gifts).



Anything with the Asset is quickly becoming one of the easiest kind of mission to be a part of. Normally, Brock would be pissed to have to leave a job to someone else to do, but babysitting the human weapon is kind of a nice change of pace. All he ever has to do is get the asset to the drop-off point, chill out for awhile, keep the comms open in case something gets hairy (it never does), and extract the other man when the job is done.

The Winter Soldier is easily one of the most complacent and easy to order men that he's ever had the pleasure of working with. He never falters, never hesitates, and never causes any trouble. 

A perfect weapon.

Sometimes, those eerie steel blue eyes linger on him after he's been thawed, or debriefed, or in the transport; basically any time that he's not consumed with a mission he's been tasked with. It's kind of sweet, like a puppy watching his master.

In retrospect, he should have known better. He'd never realized what that look in the brunette's eyes ever meant, never seen the heat for what it was. 

Brock grunts in pain as he is slammed up against the wall, the asset presses up like steel behind him. He struggles, but the other man just clamps down harder on his wrists, and he feels his bones creak. 

"What the fuck do you think you're-" he starts, but the brunette's flesh hand wraps around his throat and quells all further sounds.

" _молчание._ " That sandpaper grit voice grumbles, rough from disuse. Brock's eyes widen. He learned as much Russian as he could just to get a grasp on the asset's control words, but this one isn't familiar. His eyes narrow. Even so, the soldier never speaks, never acts out. Whatever the fuck the asset is doing, he's going to get it now. Brock opens his mouth, but those fingers tighten again. " _будь хорошим._ "

Those fingers clamp around his neck make it hard to swallow, but he gives a slight curt nod. For the time being, he'll behave. It's not like there's much else he can do unless he wants his windpipe crushed.

Several long moments pass, the other man driving his point of just how helpless Rumlow actually is home. His neck is finally released, and he sucks in air greedily, thankful that the vice-like grip is gone.

With no warning, the asset's fingers are on his belt buckle. Brock growls and squirms against the touch until that hand comes down to cup him tightly through the fabric of his pants. 

" _тихий._ " He grits out, and Brock bites the inside of his cheek. Last thing he needs is for the Winter Soldier to rip his damn dick off. When the soldier is satisfied with how still he's gotten, he continues, flicking his buckle open with ease. There's no complaining when the brunette slides his belt out of the loops, and he knows what's coming next. The only reason he doesn't struggle is he's sure that the other man will not hesitate to break his bones if he stops being compliant. The leather is looped around his wrists and forearms, and the asset tightens the strap until he is satisfied that he is fully bound. He pushes Brock forward until his cheek is grinding into the plaster of the wall.

" _остановить его сейчас!_ " He finally manages to choke out, his voice furious, throwing every ounce of command into the order as he can. If the Asset is malfunctioning, it's best to try and snap him back into responding to orders.

There's no response but a soft chuckle.

He can hear the other man pulling his knife from the sheath, the telltale slide of metal before he knows it's in the asset's fingers. He's seen him gut lesser men with the thing, and he knows very well just how easily he can be dispatched. He goes still as he feels the pressure of that knife point on the seam against his ass. Brock licks his lips, blinking hard, calculating. He's fucked. There's not really much he can do about it.

There's the telltale rip of fabric as the knife slips through the fabrics easily, and then his ass is exposed to the air. So much for going commando. But then, the asset would have only had another layer to cut away. His face starts to flush despite himself, cock straining against the remaining fabric still covering his crotch. Satisfied, the other man slips the blade back into its sheath, and the asset uses sheer force to tear the rest of the fabric, allowing his dick to flop out. He's pissed, there's nothing arousing about this situation, but he's getting chub anyways.

The asset takes the moment to hook Rumlow's left leg over his arm, raising him up. It's a humiliating position, one leg up over the Soldier's metal forearm, toes straining to stay on the ground with the other foot. He's spread out and it's a terrible, vulnerable feeling, but at the same time, there's something hotter than hell about it. Not that he'd ever admit it.

He hears the asset spit behind him only a split second before the glob hits him just above the cleft of his ass. It starts to drip down his crack, and the other man's strong fingers slick through it, tracing lower until they reach his hole. Growling, he squirms, only to have the flat of the other man's palm to slap harshly down on his right cheek. He jumps, a strangled noise reverberating through his throat.

The asset only chuckles, a low, dominant sound that he's never heard before. It's fucking terrifying.

It goes straight to his cock.

"You like that." 

They're the first words in English that the other man has said. It comes as a shock, usually he'll only use the language when deferring to Pierce.

"I knew you would be good like this. Straining, desiring my cock. You put up a tough front, but I see you enjoy being the bitch." Those rough lips move closer to his ear, softly teasing along the rim. "So strong, so dominant. I knew I had to have you."

Brock grits his teeth. "Fuck you, you fucking shit! I will rip you to fucking pieces! When Pierce hears about this-"

The soldier barks a laugh. "You think he cares? You think he didn't ask me what kind of a reward I wanted for my good behavior?" Hot air caresses the side of his face, as the other man's tongue darts out to lick a wet stripe up his ear. Brock moans without meaning to.

Fuck if he's going to get the other man to make him admit he likes it. 

"Perhaps I am being too rough." The asset concedes, and brings his fingers around to Rumlow's lips. The man clamps his jaws shut, and the soldier clucks his tongue at him. "Don't be like that. If you don't get them wet, I will go in with nothing."

It's not really a threat, just more of a fact. A muscle in Brock's cheek twitches in irritation as he opens his mouth. As the asset probes the inside of his mouth, he feels ashamed. Thank God the rest of the fucking STRIKE team can't see him like this.

Those two fingers caress his tongue, and while he wants to fight it, he knows if he doesn't get them good and wet, he'll be the one paying. He scowls darkly, tongue lapping around the digits, flushing hotly when the asset makes a noise of approval in his throat.

Soon, he seems satisfied with how wet they are and he pulls out, a spit trail still connecting the digits to his quivering lips.

"Good boy."

Brock's head whips back, straining to see if the other man is teasing him. He's heard Pierce rewards the asset with those words before, and it always made him feel sick to his stomach to see the brunette so dead eyed that he did nothing when the secretary would run a wizened hand through his lanky hair.

There were rumors. Oh hell, were there rumors. But no one was going to come out and say they thought that Pierce was fucking the Winter Soldier. Not when the walls had ears. Not unless you had a death wish.

Those eyes watch him, cold, calculating, as he pulls his fingers away, remnants of the snapped spit drooling stickily down his chin. He knows what's coming, but it doesn't make him any readier for it.

At first, the soldier is gentle, index finger tracing his puckered hole while he squirms against the sensation. It's been a long time. So long, he'd prefer to forget, pretend he'd never done it. But he'd been a lot younger and stupid and no one knew about it now. He hoped no one would ever know about this. One finger pushes in and he bucks against the sensation, ashamed that a hitched gasp slips past his lips.

"Calm down, babydoll. I ain't gonna hurt you."

For a moment, the asset sounds different, not the strict, clipped gruffness that has been emanating from his mouth, but somehow more soothing and melodic. It's strange, but he doesn't have the time to think about it. That finger arches up into his sweet spot and he has to bite his lip from making another sound. He won't give the soldier the satisfaction.

The soldier continues to slide that digit in and out, hitting his prostate every time in a way that makes his legs shake. Slowly, he gets used to the dryness and burn, ashamed to realize he's getting hard. Brock turns his face back to the wall, digging his forehead into the spackle, trying to ward off the telltale fluttering of arousal in his belly.

The finger vacates him, and he lets out a breath he hadn't realized that he'd been holding in. The soldier chuckles softly. "It's okay, babydoll, it's gonna feel real good soon."

Brock wonders where the asset would have even learned such a pet name; he fucking hopes that it didn't come from Pierce. But then there's no time to even think about it, two fingers start to press into him and he grits his teeth.

He won't enjoy it, he won't give the asset the pleasure of thinking that he'd ever enjoy this.

Those fingers start to spread him, subtlely teasing his sweet spot in erratic strokes. Even as he tries to fight it, his hips start to involuntarily rock into the sensation, earning him a pleased rumble.

"You like that, sweetheart?"

It shouldn't, but the tone makes his heart skip a beat. All at once it's dominant and kind, like the asset actually wants him to feel good, like he's not just using his body for release. It makes his cock jerk. Brock wants to be angry, wants to fight it, but the way those fingers feel inside of him is starting to feel better and better.

Again, he pulls out, and Brock bites back a strangled noise as the asset pushes in a third.

"Fucking A, slow the fuck down!" He hisses, but the other man just laughs softly.

"Gotta get you prepped, babydoll. Don't wanna hurt you." Is his only answer. 

Brock doesn't say anything else, there's no fucking point. This is going to happen whether he wants it to or not, but the way his cock is starting to drip, it seems that his brain and his body and his brain are coming to different conclusions of whether they'll like it or not.

It doesn't take too long before those fingers stretch him out enough to satisfy the asset. He pulls them out, and Brock can hear him spitting into his palm, the sure sounds of flesh on flesh as he slicks up his cock, readying himself.

He chances a glance behind and stiffens. The asset's not huge, but he is pretty well endowed. He starts to struggle, but that metal arm just hitches him up more until his toes are straining for purchase on the floor.

"Shhhh, sweetheart, it'll feel good, I promise. Just relax."

The tip of his cock is pushing at Brock's hole, and it doesn't take much force for the tip to slip inside. It catches him off guard, and he does make a noise. He immediately is pissed that such a vulnerable noise slipped past his lips.

He just wants this over with.

The asset starts to push in slowly, and he's a little surprised when the other man strokes the back of his hand down the small of his back, slowly and gently, letting him adjust to the feel of his cock deep inside him.

Before he knows it, the other man is flush against him, whispering soft encouragements. "That wasn't so bad was it, honey?"

Brock's about to grit out an angry answer, and then that hand is on his cock. His touch is electric, and Rumlow can't fight the moan that bubbles past his lips. The asset's lips are against his neck, kissing him sweetly. It's strange, he's seen this man shoot and stab a number of targets, regardless of age or gender, just a black blur of death. He'd have never thought that the Winter Soldier could be gentle.

Those fingers on his straining cock prove otherwise, stroking him to fullness. He's not sure where the soldier could have learned how to make a partner feel so good, but at the moment, he can't complain. It's a lot better than the last time he went through something like this.

It's all so good that it takes him a moment to even realize that the asset has started thrusting, making shallow strokes in and out. The brunette takes care to thrust his hips at just the right angle to hit his prostate on each slide. 

He can't stop his hips from trembling, and allows himself to push back as much a possible from his stance. The soldier makes a noise of approval, and increases his tempo. Brock almost can't keep up. The asset is relentless with each thrust until Rumlow's a panting mess.

The asset knows exactly what he's doing, timing each touch with a thrust, hitting all of his sensitive spots. It's overwhelming, and he bites his lip, trying his hardest to keep embarrassing sounds of moans and whimpers from slipping out.

All the while, the brunette keeps up an encouraging mantra, calling him pet names and telling him how good he's being and how perfect he feels. 

It's a shock when a telltale heat like lava pools in his belly, and he gives a sharp cry as he comes. The soldier milks his cock with a firm hand, so thorough that Brock sees stars.

Just like that, the asset is coming, a strangled noise ripping from his throat as he pounds the last of his seed into Rumlow's twitching hole.

Brock doesn't even realize that the high pitched, reedy sound with each exhale is coming from him, but the brunette does.

"Shhhh, _котенок_." That melodic voice is fading, switching back into clipped military efficiency. That hand soothes over his trembling ass cheek. "You're mine now. All mine. Every time I am asked what I would like for a reward, I will request you. Each and every time, I will fill you with my cock. Each time we are on a mission together, you can squirm knowing that I will be thinking of nothing but coating your insides with my semen."

Blood trickles down Brock's chin, and he doesn't even realize how hard he's been biting his lip, trying to keep from making any type of noise. The soldier is still thick inside of him, and for a moment, Rumlow wonders if the other man is even satisfied yet.

Calloused fingers trace down the side of his cheek. Chances are, the soldier won't remember anything, won't ask for him again. Part of him is glad, he can forget about this and no one will ever know what happened.

The other part of him feels strangely saddened by the fact.

The soldier is put back into cryo the next day. No one lets on that they know, and Pierce doesn't say anything. He doesn't dare ask if what the asset said was true. 

Three months later, the Winter Soldier is needed for another mission, and Rumlow makes sure he's there when the other man comes out of the deep freeze. The first few moments prove nothing, the asset is a shivering mess and a dead eyed stare.

Then those steel blue eyes land on him, and Brock feels a shiver course down his spine, one look and he knows those eyes recognize him. Brock swallows, mentally preparing himself for the what will happen after the mission.

Three months have left him anticipating it more than he'd like to admit.

**Author's Note:**

> Russian translations:
> 
> молчание-silence  
> будь хорошим-be good  
> тихий-quiet  
> остановить его сейчас-stop it right now  
> котенок-kitten
> 
>  
> 
> [TUMBLR!](http://ritsuko-chan.tumblr.com)


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